


A Midwinter Night's Dream

by Colubrina



Series: Christmas Fics [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Don’t copy to another site, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2019-11-22
Packaged: 2021-02-18 06:17:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21523153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Colubrina/pseuds/Colubrina
Summary: A holiday party at work goes astray when a sip of eggnog sends both Hermione and Draco into an enchanted wood.  To escape, they'll have to forgive the past.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Series: Christmas Fics [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1480730
Comments: 40
Kudos: 188
Collections: D/Hr Advent 2019





	A Midwinter Night's Dream

Hermione didn’t want to be here.

 _Just don’t go_ , Harry had said, throwing back another pint and shrugging. He didn’t understand that not going was admitting defeat. It was admitting she didn’t have friends at work, that she had no one to gossip with over starters, no one to giggle with as they had one-too-many glasses of eggnog. Not that anyone was ever unkind. If she ran into someone in the break room, they always asked how she was. They didn’t stay to hear the answer, and they didn’t invite her to the pub after the day was done, and they didn’t send her missives during work with eye rolls and snickers about the antics of their bosses. No, it was _Hullo, Hermione_ , and _Bit wet out today, isn’t it Hermione,_ and _Have a lovely holiday, Hermione_ and nothing more.

She stalked to the drinks table to have something to do. She wouldn’t look so alone if she were getting herself something. After this, she could fill a plate for herself. Then she could look at the photographs some enterprising assistant had gathered from everyone’s childhood Christmases and hung on the wall. Hers wouldn’t move, of course. Muggle-borns didn’t have pictures of themselves eternally squealing in glee as they ripped the paper from their packages. That didn’t make it less charming. And it wasn’t as if it had been a competition. There was no prize for having the best snapshot.

She ladled eggnog into her glass and took a sip.

Work holiday parties were the worst, but whoever had been in charge of the catering had done an excellent job. This was excellent eggnog. By far the best she’d ever had. She needed to find out where they’d gotten it so she could order some and send it to Harry and Ginny as a present. Ron and Lavender too. She wasn’t the sort to acknowledge one close friend at Christmas and not the other. She would be gracious. Not like Pansy Parkinson, who seemed to be here as someone’s guest and was laughing a little too loudly and dragging her poor date over to the mistletoe far too flamboyantly. Not like Oliver Wood either, who was holding forth on this year’s Quidditch teams as if he wanted to make sure people down the hall could hear him. 

Not like Draco Malfoy, either, who smiled at her from under an arched doorway. It was a strange expression to see on his pale, angular face, rather like a perfectly formed bow a little too small for its package. It didn’t fit. The tight, wrong smile made all her cross feelings stronger. “What do you want?” she asked. She could hear the words were icy and sharp, and that made her even crosser, so she added, “Malfoy,” in as biting a tone as she could manage.

His mouth twitched, but he didn’t give any other sign he’d noticed her hostility. Instead, he took the glass out of her hand and said, “Some of this would be nice.” She was so agog at the sheer cheek of taking another person’s drink that she didn’t stop him until he’d downed half of it.

He gave the glass back and, feeling as if she had been dared, Hermione swallowed the rest of her eggnog, half-coughing on the last bit. 

“Careful, there, Granger.” 

She set the glass down on a table with a loud thunk. She did not need to be told to be careful, and certainly not by Draco Malfoy, who’d never seen a challenge he hadn’t run away from. “Why are you here?” she asked, that question somehow even less gracious than her first. Well, being nice to Ron and Lavender was enough milk-of-human-kindness to fill her quota. Managing that absolutely gave her carte blanche to be a bit more brusque with Malfoy.

“I work here,” he said mildly. “Perhaps you’ve noticed.”

She narrowed her eyes and made a mental note to get her vision checked since that seemed to be doing something weird to the way she was processing light. The room glowed as she squinted, and Draco Malfoy with it. “You don’t need a job,” she said. 

“True enough.” He picked up the glass, ran his finger around the inside, and sucked the rest of the eggnog off. It should have been a childish gesture. It wasn’t. The shape of the smile he turned on her wasn’t a child’s, either. He let her see it for one brief moment before he tucked it away. “I do, however, have to perform a rather large amount of community service, which has landed me here.”

“That doesn’t explain why you’re talking to me.” 

“I’m starting to understand why you have trouble making friends,” Malfoy said, which managed to offend her and avoid the question at the same time.

Hermione huffed, but since no witty retort came to mind, she settled on complaining about the décor. “I think they overdid it on the mistletoe.” 

“One bunch doesn’t seem excessive.”

Hermione snorted and pointed over at that single hanging bunch. Pansy still stood under it, her arms wrapped around her date, but instead of hanging sedately from its hook, the mistletoe had burst forth long green vines that wrapped around the pair, white berries dusting over them like snow. Neither seemed to mind. They were lost in their kiss.

“Oh,” Draco said. He sounded a little surprised, but his face remained bland and pointed and pale. “Yes, I quite see your point. That is a bit much.”

“Them, too,” Hermione said, pointing to Samuel from Accounting and his girlfriend. Not that she was some sort of kill-joy who wanted to squash everyone’s enjoyment of any festive occasion. She wasn’t, no matter what Lavender said. But there were limits, and there were standards, and licking the back of your date’s mouth at a business event was over the line.

“I cannot argue with you there.” Draco put a hand on her arm, and a slow warmth spread out from his touch. Hermione swayed a little on her feet. Maybe that eggnog had been a touch too strong. 

“The music is nice, though,” she said. She hadn’t known there was going to be a band. The budget for this party must have been tremendous. The group had come late, perhaps, or set up late. She certainly hadn’t noticed them before. Maybe booking them for less time was how the Ministry could afford a group so good because as soon as they started to play, her feet itched with the urge to dance.

“It is good.” Draco held out his hand, and when she eyed him suspiciously, rolled his eyes. “I don’t see you getting any other offers.”

Well, that was true enough. And Hermione supposed she shouldn’t turn down the one she had. And he was dressed well, in fancy robes that managed to be both appropriate and fashionable. Nothing like the maroon ones with too much lace that Ron had worn so many years ago. Not even like the dull, formal robes he wore these days. People could say what they wanted to about Draco Malfoy – Death Eater, coward, privileged sot – but he certainly knew how to dress.

The Ministry hadn’t done anything quite as sensible as provide a dance floor, but all around them, people were pairing off and beginning to sway to the music as though they were hypnotized. Hermione tried to remember the dancing lessons she’d had so long ago at Hogwarts – how funny she’d gone to a school named Hogwarts. It was almost impossible not to laugh – but even if her brain had forgotten her feet still knew the way this went, and Draco Malfoy led her through spins and twirls and complicated patterns she couldn’t possibly have done as a teen. 

He could dress, _and_ he could dance.

He looked down at her smile. “What’s so amusing?”

Hogwarts. Her sudden, inexplicable dancing skill. That Draco Malfoy had his hand tucked at her waist, and it felt as if it belonged there. As if it had always belonged there. That she’s been so ridiculous as to be sad she and Ron had ended things when she should have been relieved. A thousand things amused her. Filled her with joy. Made her mouth turn up in a smile it had forgotten lately. “I’ll keep my thoughts to myself,” Hermione said primly as a woman wearing a cat’s face slid by to her left. She turned sharply, but it was only Marlene, who she sometimes saw in the lifts. They always said hullo. Now Marlene’s face blurred and smeared, leaving bits of itself behind in the air. “Do you see that?” Hermione asked.

“I see you,” Draco said, not turning to look. “You’re glowing.”

“I hope not,” she said. She feigned horror, but she was delighted. She never would have thought Draco Malfoy would be the type to hand out compliments, much less compliments to her. She had to tease. To flirt. To get him to do it again. “Or is that a good thing.”

“Your skin is luminescent,” he murmured as the music moved their feet. “Your hair is fire. Definitely good.”

“Draco.” Hermione wanted to revel in this, but Marlene had walked by again, and now she was a tree. All around them, trees had begun to grow, reaching arms up to the ceiling, human hands turned to leaves and human faces to bark, and before Hermione could so much as pull her wand, they were in a wood. 

He stopped dancing. “It’s quiet,” he said, and he was right. The music had died away, replaced by the crack of a branch. Wind blew through the trees, then was silent. Moss grew between her feet. When she looked to her left, Pansy still stood, cocooned in a web of mistletoe, but even as Hermione stared, the vines grew thicker and thicker until she was gone and only dense, dark greenery remained. 

“We should leave,” Hermione said. She wasn’t sure what was happening, but whatever magic this was, she didn’t want it to swallow her the same way it had everything else. Stealing away with Draco Malfoy was a risk, but staying here was a fool’s choice.

Draco nodded, his face pale in the moonlight. 

Their feet were silent on the forest floor. The trees were thick, and it didn’t matter how long they walked, the scene never varied. The path led behind them to nothing. The same path stretched before them, seeming to widen only a little farther along, but the broad spot never grew closer. At last, her feet really hurting from the party shoes she’d worn, Hermione sat down on a wide, low rock. “I think we’re lost,” she said.

Draco sat next to her, leaving several inches of space between them. “I think you’re right,” he said, which had to be a first. She wanted to savor it – Draco Malfoy telling her she was right – but the trees were too dark and the call of a bird too eerie, and so instead, she shivered. She was in the Ministry. The fourth-floor ladies loo always had a line. She had a tiny desk and no friends. It was all dull and logical, and there were absolutely no loons.

It cried again, and the sound echoed.

“Finite incantem,” Draco said, his wand out. Nothing happened, and he tried again more desperately, “ _Finite incantem._ ”

His wand moved in precisely the right pattern. He’d never been a bad student. Never stupid. None of that cleverness and skill mattered now, though, because nothing changed. No trees melted away. No convenient train station appeared, ready to whisk them to safety. 

“Finite,” he said again. “Goddamn it, _finite_.”

“Put it away,” she said. There was no point in wearing themselves out.

“So, what do you think we should do?” he asked. “We can’t just sit here.”

“Why go on walking if nothing changes?”

His mouth moved into an unhappy line, but he didn’t argue. Hermione watched his expression harden, then melt away, replaced by resignation. She’d never looked at his lips before. Maybe it was the hushed silence of this place that gave every expression weight. Maybe it was being trapped with him, or their dance, or the fluid movement of his failed incantations. She could always blame the eggnog. Whatever it was, his lips had become almost irresistible. She reached her hand up and traced the line of his mouth with one thumb.

Not almost then. Fully irresistible.

His mouth smiled under her touch. It was a bit of a wry smile. Hardly warm. Not really inviting. But it was there. 

“Why not just sit here?” Hermione asked. She dropped her hand, but her eyes stayed on his lips.

“You have to do something,” he said. “ _We_ have to do something.”

“Walking isn’t helping,” she pointed out. “Continuing to apply the same solution after it has failed to address the problem isn’t productive.”

“You’re famous for always having your nose in a book. What will _address the problem_?”

As if she knew. “You’re from an old family,” she said. “Hasn’t ‘unending forest’ ever come up?”

He snorted. “Mother talked about fashion and Father about politics.”

“So, we’re both equally lost,” she said. She shrugged. They might as well sit here. They might as well lie down on the moss and take a nap, or get up and dance again, or do something with those lips. She tilted her head to one side. “I’m up for suggestions.”

“Running.” 

She lifted one foot off the forest floor and turned it first one way, then the other. She’d picked pretty shoes for the evening. Gold, with little straps that wrapped around her ankles and a heel so high she’d had to practice walking in them. “Even walking this far has been hard,” she said. “I don’t think these are quite up for a quick jog.”

“I see your point,” Draco said. “Try taking them off.”

She didn’t think that would help, but trying didn’t seem like it would hurt anything, so she slid them off and began to run down the path. She wasn’t moving quickly, and Draco easily kept pace with her even in his dress shoes, but nothing changed. Trees slid by, the wide spot in the path they could see up ahead never drew any closer, and, at last, she sat down on a very familiar rock to catch her breath.

Draco sat next to her, his knee brushing against hers. “You were, I must admit, right,” he said. “All we did was make no progress more quickly.”

She was glad he could admit it. 

“You were always clever,” he said.

She waved her hand through the air, dismissing his words. “So were you.”

“Yes,” he said. He grinned a little. “But I never thought you’d admit it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, it’s impossible to deny,” she said. It was obvious, and even his worse enemies had to concede basic facts about him. “You’re clever and rich and easy to look at.”

“How much eggnog did you have?” he asked.

“Half a glass.” She was still annoyed he’d snatched the rest of it out of her hand. It seemed like a petty thing to care about when they were trapped in some sort of unending wood, but it had been really good. “As you know. Why?”

“I’m just assuming you’d have to be three sheets to the wind to call me easy to look at,” Draco said.

“You _do_ own a mirror, I’m assuming,” Hermione said. This had gotten embarrassing, and she didn’t like the out-of-control feeling that left in her stomach. She fiddled with the strap of her shoe and added, “Don’t beg for compliments.”

“How about returning them?” Draco asked.

Whoever had designed the buckles on this shoe had done very delicate work. Hermione busied herself with making sure they still worked to keep from having to answer him. These hadn’t been cheap, if she got back into the real world, she’d be very upset if she’d damaged them by yanking them off.

Draco gently took the shoe out of her hand and set it to the side. “I was – “

“I know,” he said. He cupped one hand along the side of her face. “I think it will be fine.”

“We’re stuck in a – “

“We’ll get out,” he said. “You’re the smartest witch of our age and – “

“That’s just something Harry said to be an arse.”

“Well, he’s got a knack for being right,” Draco said. “You are the smartest witch, and I have a history of fixing things under pressure – “

“ _Fixing_ things?” Hermione wouldn’t have put it that way.

“ – and we will solve this, but since we are sitting here, I am going to point out you have beautiful hair, and eyes a man could drown in, and when you are thinking about something, you get a little crease right between your brows that is absolutely adorable.” He leaned forward very slowly, as if waiting for her to pull away, and pressed his lips – the lips she had a hard time not staring at – right on that furrowed brow. 

Hermione let out a wild, ragged exhale. She set her own hand on his shoulder, not pushing him away but not pulling him closer either. “That’s a lot to notice.”

“I have been doing my service work at the Ministry for some time now,” Draco said. “And I notice things.”

“Things about me.”

“You are noticeable.”

She wasn’t, though. Not to most people. To most people, she was there to say _hullo_ to, and _have a nice day,_ and _Oh, Hermione_ , _if you’re going down to supplies, could you get me some more flobberworms_. People didn’t notice her in that way. Not the way that catalogued her eyes and hair and tiny mannerisms. “I’m not,” she said.

“You are to me.”

She pulled on his shoulder, and he tipped his head, and then their mouths were touching. It was ridiculous. Hermione was not the sort of woman who handled magical problems by sitting at the side of the path and kissing anyone, much less Draco Malfoy. She didn’t know what she was doing here. Didn’t know what made this seem like the most logical, inevitable thing to do. But here she was. Her lips were on his, and his hand had slid into her hair, and he was holding her in his grasp. She opened her lips under his and tasted the eggnog again, and this was all sweet. This was saying goodbye to all those years of childish animosity, this was letting go of history, this was existing only right now, only here in this enchanted wood, only this moment and no other.

Snow began to fall, and she pulled away from him in sudden, charmed delight. 

Draco held a hand out and caught a fat, white flake. It sat for a moment on his skin, feathered crystals clinging to their shape for one last second, then it melted. She tipped her head back and caught a second one with her tongue, then he had one on his eyelashes, and they were both laughing. “How can it be snowing?” Hermione asked. “We’re indoors.”

“With magic, anything is possible,” Draco said. It was a parody of his usual snobbery and charming in that. Hermione grabbed him and kissed him again, this time with more vigor. She curved against him, and he grabbed at her back and held her there, and they fit together as she’d never fit against anyone else. Snow was coming down harder and harder, bits of white stinging as they hit her exposed skin and melted, and none of that mattered because they were two puzzle pieces who had clicked together, and they shouldn’t have slid into one another. They didn’t look as if they should but, as was the way of it, as soon as one snapped into the other, it was as if they’d never not been together. 

“You,” she said.

“Yes?”

“You were a horrible child.”

“It’s true.” He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed it. “I don’t suppose you can forgive me.”

“You were a child,” she hedged.

“Who openly wished for your death at twelve,” he pointed out. “And who joined a genocidal cult.”

“Well, twelve-year-olds,” she said. “Should know better.” He turned her hand over and kissed her palm. His breath was hot against her skin. When he raised his eyes to hers, genuine agony sat in the lines of his face. “I have tried to atone. I have tried to undo the… the things that led to me to that place. But I know it can never be enough.”

She laced her fingers through his. “I think it’s enough that you are trying,” she said. She tried to summon the past, but it wouldn't come. It was over. “Walk some more?” she suggested.

They were a ways down the path before she realized she had left the heels behind at the rock, but any thought of going back to get them was lost because the path began to widen and the steady fall of snow slowed. The light shifted from moon to something warmer, and the air began to smell of meatballs and cologne. Hermione glanced up at Draco, wondering what he thought about this shift, but he was glaring ahead of them with narrowed eyes and an irritated twist to his mouth.

“What happened to you?” Pansy Parkinson asked with a sniff and a toss of her hair. A bit of mistletoe clung to her collar, and her mouth opened to a swirling vortex before it solidified into teeth with a smear of pink on them. “Did you get trapped by that waterfall on the fifth floor?”

Hermione raised a hand to her hair. It came away damp. Well, melting snow would do that.

“We went for a walk,” Draco said. "Have we offended you?" His smile became arch and cruel. "Was the party a snoozefest in our absence?"

Pansy glanced down at their interlaced fingers, then at the floor where Hermione’s bare feet were leaving marks. “A walk where you lost your shoes?” she asked snidely.

“Yes,” Hermione said. She glanced back, but the rock with her shoes next to it was gone, as were the trees, the path, the snow. “I don’t suppose there’s any of that eggnog left.”

“You want more?” Draco asked. 

“I was going to ask where they got it,” Hermione said. “Send some to Harry and Ron for Christmas.”

“That seems ill-advised,” Draco said, with a glance back to the missing forest. “Perhaps settle for a fruitcake or some chocolate biscuits.”

Hermione followed his gaze. “You have a point,” she said. “Perhaps you would come shopping with me tomorrow, then go out for dinner.”

“Tell me you aren’t going shopping to get Saint Potter some biscuits,” Pansy said. “Draco, please.”

Draco’s fingers tightened around hers, and Hermione smiled as he said, “But I am. There’s a new little place started by a witch from the Basque region of Spain,” and now he was clearly directing his words to Hermione. “I haven’t eaten there yet, but I hear it’s quite good. Barkatu’s the name. Are you up for it?”

“That sounds good,” Hermione said.

Draco bent down and brushed his lips over hers. She could still smell a hint of that eggnog. It was wild and tempting, and a flower -- a little wild pansy, amusingly enough -- began to bloom between her toes. The human Pansy stomped off, but Hermione didn’t care. “Barkatu sounds perfect,” she said and kissed Draco Malfoy again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to QuickHideTheRum and Misdemeanor1331 for beta reading. All remaining errors are my fault.
> 
> The wild pansy at the end is, of course, another name for love-in-idleness, used by Oberon in Midsummer Night's Dream.
> 
> Barkatu is Basque for forgiveness.


End file.
